


The Reverie

by Sasa_Q



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Garak's Past, M/M, Original Cardassian Character - Freeform, Warning: sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasa_Q/pseuds/Sasa_Q
Summary: The Cardassian Vrell Jad, the suspected author of Garak's least favorite book, The Reverie, arrives on Deep Space Nine. Garak finds himself facing his past in more ways than one, and examining his current relationships.
Relationships: Elim Garak/Original Male Character(s), Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	The Reverie

There was no one in Garak's shop. He idled around the space, humming a tune the musician at Quark's had been playing the night before. He was straightening the displays, running his fingers over the various textures, when he heard footsteps, and looked up.

A Cardassian man perhaps a few Earth years younger than Garak had entered the shop. He was a few inches shorter than Garak. His dark hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. He wore the most preposterously flamboyant outfit Garak had seen on anyone with the except of Quark, all different textures, daring colors, and a neckline that showed off the ridges and scales on his shoulders that went up his neck. He also wore a Bajoran earring on his right ear. It looked strange on a Cardassian.

"Missed me?" said the Cardassian.

"Jad," said Garak. His day had just gotten a lot worse.

"That's right, it's me!" he said, looking pleased. "So you haven't forgotten me, Garak."

"Get out of my shop," Garak wanted to say.

Instead, he said, "Why, Jad- what are you doing here? Bajor wasn't exciting enough, you had to come visit Deep Space Nine?"

"Oh, Bajor's fine," said Vrell Jad. "I just wanted to pay you a visit."

Garak realized his fists were clenched. He made an effort to unclench them. "Excellent," said Garak. "Now, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave, unless you want to indulge in my wares. I don't allow loitering."

"I'm sure that isn't true," said Jad. "But, if you must know, I've heard that you're an excellent tailor. I was wondering if you'd make me an outfit."

Perfect, Garak thought. An outfit. "What do you want made?"

"Oh, a suit would be lovely," Jad said.

"Something in the vein of what you're wearing now? All those... colors?" Garak said, fighting not to sound disdainful.

"I do love colors," said Jad. "Go wild."

"Excellent," said Garak. "I suppose I'll have to measure you."

"Yes, I suppose you will have to," said Jad. "My measurements have changed considerably since the... old days."

Garak took out his measuring tape and began to measure Vrell Jad. Thankfully, the man stayed silent for the majority of it. Then, when he was wrapping up, Jad just had to open his mouth.

"So, how are you doing here on Terok Nor?" asked Jad.

"Deep Space Nine," said Garak, measuring.

"Oh, that's right. Deep Space Nine now. No Cardassians here. No Cardassians but you."

Bastard, Garak thought.

"I'm doing just fine," said Garak. "My business is doing quite well."

"I'm surprised to see you like this, Garak," said Jad. "I mean, I heard you were nothing but a tailor now, but this."

Garak ignored him. "And how is Bajor?"

"Bajor is fine," said Jad. "You should see the garden I have at my flat."

"I didn't know you gardened," said Garak.

"I didn't, until recently. It gave me something to put my mind to instead of old scars."

Garak didn't see any of Jad's old scars. Those were all covered by his clothes.

He straightened up. "All done," he said. "How long, may I ask, will you be on the station? It could take a fair bit of time to get this suit finished."

"Oh, I'll be here as long as I need to be," said Jad. "I suppose I'll leave... the day after I get my suit. Does that sound fair?" He flashed a grin. "I think I've given you great motivation. You get the suit done, you get me out of your hair."

Garak started to putter around the shop once more, but he looked up and Jad hadn't left.

"I never imagined us meeting under these circumstances," said Jad softly. "Tailor and client. I was a client of yours, I suppose, before, but in a different context."

"I don't want to talk about the old days," said Garak.

"Still bitter?" said Jad. He advanced on Garak. "Still bitter that you never could pin it on me? That you didn't have the proof you needed that I wrote The Reverie? That you couldn't torture it out of me?"

"I said, I don't want to talk about it, Jad," Garak said.

But Jad continued. "You know, I think you're jealous of me," he said. "Jealous because, although we're both exiles from Cardassia, you're exiled by force, and I'm exiled by choice."

"I'm not jealous of you, Jad," said Garak. "Now, please, vacate if you don't plan on purchasing a second suit."

"Come to my quarters at 2100 hours tonight," said Vrell Jad. He leaned on the door frame of Garak's shop. "I'll make it worth your while."

Insufferable bastard, thought Garak vehemently.

XXXXX

The rest of the day, Garak's shop wasn't very busy. He spent most of his time getting his materials together for Jad's suit. He picked out his least favorite fabrics. Not necessarily because he didn't like them- no, because he knew Jad would like them.

His mind wandered elsewhere, elsewhere to a small, dark room, with only one light. That one light was shining right in the eyes of Vrell Jad. He was sitting in a chair, handcuffed to it by his wrists and ankles, and the light was shining in his eyes, making him squint. He looked much different. His hair wasn't slicked down, but in disarray, and he was a good deal thinner from being the in the cells for weeks without much food at all. His eyes were wild.

Garak stood in front of him next to a table filled with medical-type instruments. "We're going to play a game, Jad," he said. His voice was hard. "We're going to count to ten. Just like you did when you were a child in school. And before we get to ten, you're going to tell me who wrote The Reverie."

"If you like," said Jad carelessly, but his eyes were afraid.

Garak selected an instrument. "Spread out your fingers," he said. "All right, let's begin." He clamped down on the claw that belonged to Vrell's right-hand pinkie finger and ripped it off roughly. "One," he said.

Jad screamed. Blood began to well from the place where the claw had been.

"Want to talk?" asked Garak. Jad shook his head. "Very well. Two." He pulled off a second claw. He imagined the second would hurt even more than the first, now that Jad knew what the expect from the pain. "Three." He pulled off another. "Four. Five. Would you care to tell me who wrote The Reverie, Jad?"

"I don't know who wrote it," said Jad, his teeth gritted. Blood was dripping from his fingers.

"Very well," said Garak again. "Six." Another claw. "Seven." Another. "Still don't want to talk?" Jad shook his head again. "Eight." Jad was breathing hard, his eyes screwed shut as if he couldn't bear to look. "Nine. This is your last chance." But Jad was still silent. "Ten." Garak ripped off his last claw.

"Fine," said Jad. "I'll- I'll tell you who wrote The Reverie."

"Now, that's more like it," said Garak. "Tell me."

"You," spat Jad. "You wrote The Reverie."

Garak slapped him in the face hard. "Don't you dare play games with me, Jad," he said, his voice a purr. "That would be a grave mistake on your part."

Jad grinned crookedly, but his eyes were plainly scared that Garak would hit him again. "Oh, would it really?" he said.

Then it was some time later, and they were in a different room. This room was bigger. There was a sort of rigging in the middle of the room, and attached to it by his handcuffed wrists was a standing Vrell Jad. He was wearing only trousers. He faced Garak. Garak stood there, arms crossed, watching Jad. He could see Jad's ribs through his bare chest.

"If you please," said Garak.

A man standing a distance behind Jad began to whip him. Viciously, no remorse, as hard as he could. At the first whiplash, Jad's eyes screwed shut, and his face contorted in pain at the shock of the impact. Garak could see, through the eye of a camera, Jad's back side. There was a split where the whip had hit his back, and blood was beginning to appear. He bled like a Cardassian, even though he was a traitor to the state.

He watched Jad getting whipped for several minutes. The blood was beginning to trickle, hot and fast, down Jad's naked back. But Jad never cried out. Not once.

"Stop for now," said Garak, holding up his hand. The whipper stopped. Garak could see, through the camera, blood on the whip.

Garak advanced on Jad. "Now," he said. "Did this teach you to never try to escape again?" Jad didn't respond. "Well?"

"Yes, Garak," said Jad. He bit his lip. "I won't try it again."

"I confess that I wanted to hear you scream," said Garak.

"Thank you for your confession," said Jad sarcastically. He smelled like hot, sticky sweat.

Garak stepped back. "Please continue," he said to the whipper, who nodded and continued.

They went until Vrell Jad's back looked more like a bloody, torn-up piece of meat than a Cardassian's back. His scales were split and bloody, and his back was covered with bleeding whip-marks that more than broke the skin.

But he never screamed. Not once. Garak hated him for that.

Sometime later, they were back in that first, small, dark room. But in place of the chair Jad was tied to was a machine. Jad was strapped into the machine. He looked like death. His eyes were hollow and wild, darting. His hair was a mess. He smelled like the cells. He was connected in many ways to the machine, hooked up to it in areas all over his body.

"Now," said Garak, "I'm going to ask you a few questions."

"Ask," said Jad. His eyes were afraid.

"We'll start with an easy one. What is your name?" asked Garak.

"Vrell Jad," said Jad.

"Son of Gul Ledec," Garak said.

"Leave my father out of this," spat Jad.

"Oh, that's right," said Garak. "You aren't his son anymore. He disowned you."

"That's none of your business," said Jad.

"Everything is my business," said Garak. "Now, why did he disown you?"

Jad shook his head. "I don't have to tell you that," he said.

"Do you want me to turn on the machine?" asked Garak innocently.

"Fine," said Jad. "He disowned me because I like men."

Garak was not expecting that at all. "What?" he said. He was expecting Gul Ledec to have disowned his son for a matter of loyalty to the state or devotion to Cardassia. Not... that.

"You heard me," said Jad. He was looking Garak straight in the eyes, unashamed. "What, not what you were expecting, were you?"

Garak wanted to tell him, for some odd reason, that he wasn't alone. That he, Garak, was the same... except his father hadn't disowned him for it. He felt for Jad.

But he had to banish such thoughts. "Thank you for your answers," he said aloud. "I was just warming you up." He cracked his knuckles. He knew it was a bad habit, but he had started to do it years ago and found himself unable to stop. "Now," he said, "for an important question."

"Yes?" said Jad.

"Who wrote The Reverie?"

"Roho," Jad told him.

"Ah, yes," said Garak, "but who is Roho?"

"I don't know," said Jad.

"But I think you do," said Garak. Jad didn't respond. "Oh? We'll see about that." And, with a flip of a switch, he turned on the machine Jad was hooked up to.

Instantly, Jad began to scream. His back arched against the chair, and every muscle in his body tensed. His feet drummed against the ground in a dance of pain. His scream was horrible, wordless, and agonized. It was so raw, so primal, that Garak almost felt embarrassed to witness it.

"Garak!" shrieked Jad. His voice was torn up. "Garak, please, make it stop! Make it stop!"

"Not until you tell me who Roho is," said Garak.

"I told you, I don't know! I don't know!" There were tears of pain in Jad's eyes. "Make it stop!"

"That isn't an acceptable answer," said Garak.

"Cufka'ajan," spat Jad.

"Such language," tut-tutted Garak. "I'll just leave this on while you think about your actions. I'll make it stop when you tell me the answer I'm looking for."

He left the machine on for about five straight minutes nonstop. All the while, Vrell Jad screamed. Tears streamed down the scales on his face and dripped off his chin. When he wasn't screaming, he was whimpering. All of it was in a strange language that perhaps only Jad himself knew. It was a mix of Kardasi and wordless, agonized moaning.

"Make it stop!" he screamed. "Garak, please, please, please, just make it stop!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Garak. "Only you have the power to make it stop. By telling me the truth."

"I've already told you the truth," pleaded Jad. "I don't know who wrote The Reverie. I can't tell you what you want to hear- just make it stop."

Just then, someone walked in without knocking. It was one of the guards. "Garak, someone's here to speak with you."

"I told you to never interrupt me," said Garak icily.

"It's urgent, he says," said the guard.

"Fine," said Garak. He reached over and switched off the machine. Jad slumped forward with a gasp and began crying, messily and loudly. "I'll be back for you later," Garak promised him. Jad just cried louder.

When Garak left the room, he was greeted by the sight of one of his associates of the Obsidian Order. The room was empty but for him. "I never allow my interrogation sessions to be interrupted," said Garak. "I do hope this is good."

"Your interrogation session with Vrell Jad," confirmed the man.

"Yes," said Garak. "And?"

"Your interrogation session is no longer necessary," said the man. "We've found the man who wrote The Reverie."

"What?" Garak exclaimed. "But that's not possible! Vrell Jad-"

"Vrell Jad is innocent," said the man. "We found a man with twenty copies of The Reverie in his possession. He's been interrogated. It took a while for him to confess, but he finally cracked. He's admitted to writing the book."

"But Vrell Jad wrote The Reverie!" said Garak. "I'm sure of it!"

"You've got no proof," said the man.

"When has that stopped us in the past?"

"This man's confessed, Garak," said the man. "Vrell Jad has not." He paused. "I think, sometimes, my dear Garak, you're simply entirely too convinced that you're correct." Garak was fuming so much he couldn't say a word. "Arrangements for Vrell Jad's freedom have been made. He'll be set free tomorrow."

"We've got to get him on something," said Garak desperately.

"We don't even have proof that he's an enemy of the state," said the man. "I suggest you inform Jad of his freedom."

Garak re-entered the small, dark room with the torture machine. Vrell Jad was no longer crying, but he still looked utterly pathetic, tear trails and snot running down his face. When he heard Garak entering the room, he visibly flinched, and flinched again when he saw how angry the expression on Garak's face was.

"I can't confess," said Jad hoarsely. "I can't lie to you."

"You don't need to confess," Garak said, beginning to untie his restraints and unhooking him from the machine. He was so angry that his hands shook. "You're being set free."

"What?" Jad looked up at him, astonished. "But-"

"I said, you're being set free. Tomorrow. Now, be quiet and let me untie you," Garak snapped.

"What happened?" asked Jad, ignoring Garak's 'be quiet'.

"Another man has confessed to writing The Reverie," said Garak.

"What, did you torture him, too?" asked Jad harshly.

"You are in no position to accuse me of anything," Garak said. He had finally finished untying Jad. He pulled Jad to his feet. The instant he let go of Jad's arm, Jad collapsed, his knees buckling. "Get up." Jad tried, and eventually, he could stand on his own.

A guard was waiting for them when they left the room. "Take him to his cell," said Garak. He didn't make eye contact with Jad. He couldn't even stand to look at him.

The next day, as promised, Vrell Jad was being released. Garak intercepted him before he could leave the compound.

Jad looked horrible. His light gray Cardassian skin was too pale, and his posture was slumped, collapsing in on himself, as if he were afraid someone was about to hit him. His eyes were set on Garak. "What is it, Garak?" he said harshly. "I'm not being released after all?"

"Oh, you're being released," said Garak. "Suffice it to say we'll be checking in on you."

"That might be difficult," said Jad.

"Really?" Garak said, narrowing his eyes. "Why would that be?"

"I'm leaving Cardassia," said Jad. "I have decided to exile myself."

"Why in the world would you do that?" Garak asked. "Unless, of course, you have a problem with Cardassia..."

"If you were tortured in the name of the state, would you love it still?" asked Jad.

"Yes," said Garak, "yes, I would." And as he said it, he knew it was true. "Where are you going?"

"I was thinking of Bajor," said Jad.

"What? Bajor?" Garak exclaimed. "Why Bajor?"

"It's not Cardassia," said Jad. "Now," he said, "unless you have anything more to say to me, I'm leaving." As he turned to walk away, guards flanking him, he called over his shoulder, "I'll see you again."

"Stop," said Garak. Jad stopped walking. "Why will you see me again?"

"Why, Garak," said Jad, "I'd think it would be evident. To laugh in your face, of course. To laugh in your face that for once, you weren't correct. That no matter what you did, you couldn't make me confess to a crime I didn't commit." He turned on his heel. "Good day, Garak."

And that was the last time Garak had seen Jad until today. He puttered around his shop, trying to take his mind off the past, picking out materials for Jad's suit. He made sure to pick out the ugliest fabrics he had, with the most horrid of textures. Not because he had any ill will for Jad (although believe it, he did have ill will), but because he knew that Jad would actually like the horrible fabrics. He was just the sort of man who would.

Garak replicated dinner alone in his quarters. He kept mulling it over. "Come to my quarters at 2100 hours tonight," Jad had said. "I'll make it worth your while."

At a few minutes until 2100 hours, Garak cleared his throat. "Computer," he said, "locate Vrell Jad's quarters."

XXXXX

It was 2105 hours, and Garak found himself outside of Vrell Jad's guest quarters. He pressed the bell for entry, and almost immediately, Jad opened the door.

"Ah, Garak!" he said. He was still wearing that horrible, gaudy outfit. "I was beginning to think that you had decided not to come! Or that you had gotten lost on the way to my quarters."

"You didn't tell me where your quarters were," said Garak.

"Oh, I was sure you'd find it out somehow," said Jad. "After all, even though you're just a tailor now, I figured you would have some knowledge of Terok Nor."

"Deep Space Nine." Garak wanted to grind his teeth.

"Drink?" asked Jad, sauntering over to a table with a bottle on it. "Kanar, perhaps?"

"Not replicated?" said Garak. "Where did you get that?"

"From a lovely man named Quark," said Jad. "Want some?"

Garak wanted to say no, but he'd always had a connection to alcohol. Couldn't say no, could never say no. "If you please." Jad replicated two glasses and filled them both. He handed one to Garak. The two of them clinked glasses. Garak sipped, and Jad knocked his back. He made a face.

"I think we can both agree on something," he said, "This is the worst kanar I've ever tasted."

Garak had to crack a smile at that. "I've had worse." He set down his glass on the table. "So," he said. "Jad."

"Garak." Despite his proclamation of how bad the drink was, Jad still swallowed another gulp.

"I have a question for you." Garak folded his arms.

"Oh, perfect!" Jad said, delighted. "Just like the old days! You asking me questions and me telling you to go fuck yourself."

"Why did ask me to come to your quarters?" Garak asked. "Better yet- why in the world did you come here to Deep Space Nine?"

"Don't you remember, Garak?" asked Jad. "To laugh in your face. It's even easier to laugh in your face now that your days with the Obsidian Order are over. Now that you're just a tailor. Plain, simple Garak. We're on the same level, you and I. Both exiles."

"We're nothing alike," Garak spat. "And that doesn't explain why you invited me to your quarters."

"Perhaps I just wanted some company," said Jad innocently.

"I'm done with your games, Jad," said Garak. "I was done with them back in the old days, and I'm done with them now. I'm sick of you already and I haven't even seen you for a day. You represent everything I regret about my past and I resent you for it. Is there any better reason to hate you and your insipid smile and your tacky clothing?"

"It's not as if I don't resent you, too," Jad said. "You tortured me to the point where I was a shell of a man. But... you still couldn't get it out of me, could you?" He was grinning. "You couldn't get me to admit that I wrote The Reverie."

"If I had known better, I would have slit your throat the minute you were taken out of your cell," Garak said furiously. "I should have killed you when I had the chance. I-"

Without warning, Jad advanced on him, and suddenly their lips were pressed together. At first, Garak froze up, not knowing what to do. A million images flashed in his mind, and then it came to a decision. He began to reciprocate, kissing back. I shouldn't be doing this, he kept thinking, but he kept doing it. Jad's lips were soft and warm. Those were the same lips that begged for his mercy while being tortured by him. The same lips that had said "Cufka'ajan" to him when he asked a question. But somehow, Garak just didn't care.

The two broke apart for air. Jad's eyes were bright and inviting. He moved aside the fabric of Garak's shirt collar to reveal his neck ridges. His fingers traced Garak's kinat'hU, the third scale on his neck ridges. He gazed into Garak's eyes, and smiled a bit, and then suddenly, he bit Garak's kinat'hU. Garak's whole body tensed, and he let out a moan without realizing he was doing it. He gripped Jad's shoulders, his claws tight on the ugly fabric of Jad's shirt.

"You liked that, didn't you?" said Jad, coming up for air. He grinned.

By way of answering, Garak pushed aside the gaudy material of Jad's shirt and revealed his kinat'hU. He returned the bite. Jad moaned loudly, his claws pressing into Garak's shoulders. When Garak came up, he could not help but smile at the look on Jad's face.

"It appears you feel the same," Garak said.

"Shut up and kiss me," said Jad, and Garak did, regretting every second as it passed.

They ended up at the bed in Jad's guest quarters, Garak sitting on the bed and Jad sliding to his knees. Before he knew what was happening, Jad was undoing the top of Garak's pants and sliding them down, revealing him. Garak felt embarrassed, sitting there on a strange bed half-naked, and then Jad gently, tenderly pressed his lips to Garak, his tongue teasing him, and Garak forgot everything.

"Jad-" he started to say.

Jad stopped, and looked up at him. "Call me Vrell." And he continued. Garak's hands wound into Vrell Jad's hair and held it tight, held him there against him. Garak everted quickly. It had been a while since he had did anything like this. Pleasure surged through him through Vrell's mouth, hot and satisfying.

Eventually, Vrell stopped and looked up at Garak expectantly.

"Take off your clothes," said Garak, his voice husky. Vrell obeyed, slowly pulling off his ugly, ugly outfit and revealing his naked body. His scales had turned a dark gray with arousal, as had Garak's. Vrell looked beautiful standing there naked before him. Yes, he had changed from the old days. Garak could no longer see his ribs. He had... healed, healed from the torture. Somehow.

Garak pulled off his shirt, and finished pulling down his pants. Again, he felt slightly embarrassed, naked in front of Vrell Jad of all people, but he tried to quell the embarrassment by standing and kissing Vrell again. Their skin touched, warmth on warmth, and as they kissed, Garak's hands touched Vrell.

Garak pulled away. "Lie down," he said. Vrell lay down on his back on his bed. As he turned to do so, Garak saw his back for the first time. It was covered in scars from being whipped many times during his time being tortured. It was horrific. The scars were lumpy and ugly and layered on top of each other, a mess. Garak felt a sudden rush of realization that he was the one who ordered that those scars be made. It went away when Vrell pulled him down on top of him.

Garak bit his kinat'hU again. Vrell surged forward, his hips pressing into Garak's. Garak stop biting and clumsily stuck himself into Vrell. Vrell let out a hiss through his teeth as Garak did so. Garak began slowly at first. Vrell was moaning. Garak could hardly hear it through the sound of his own blood pumping.

A strange anger began to fill him. This wasn't just any sexual partner. This wasn't just any Cardassian. This was Vrell Jad. The author of The Reverie. Damn it, Garak knew he was the one who wrote it! The book had inspired riots on Cardassia to the point where it was banned! The author was responsible for civil disarray and disloyalty to the state! And Vrell Jad was the man who had written it. Garak knew it. Vrell Jad. Garak couldn't give him the death sentence, or even put him behind bars. Jad was a symbol of Garak's failure. And Garak hated him for it.

He began to take Vrell rougher, pounding away harder and harder until Vrell's moans intermingled with with cries of pain. Garak gripped Vrell's shoulders, and his claws pierced his skin, drawing out blood. Garak didn't care. He kept pumping away and away until with a horribly terrific rush, he came. Vrell groaned in pain and ecstasy as it happened, and writhed under Garak.

Eventually, the only sound that remained was their heavy breathing. Garak rolled off of Vrell and onto the bed beside him. He closed his eyes, still breathing heavily. He always got sleepy after sex. He used to get embarrassed about it, he remembered.

"You're going to sleep?" Vrell said. "I've just had the roughest sex of my life, and you're going to sleep?"

"Yes," said Garak. As he fell asleep, he dimly felt Vrell tuck him in to the covers and lie down beside him, his skin comfortingly warm.

XXXXX

Garak dreamed of Cardassia. He was back in the complex where Vrell Jad was being held. Instead of him interrogating Jad, Jad was interrogating him. Garak was attached to the torture machine, hooked up to it in several different places. When he looked down, he was frail and thin, and wore worn-down clothes.

"Did you write The Reverie?" asked Jad. He was wearing the outfit Garak had been wearing that day. "Well?"

"I didn't write it," Garak said. "You wrote it."

Jad punched him hard in the face. Garak felt his nose snap and break. "You're a fucking liar," Jad snarled. "I know you wrote it." And he turned on the machine.

The pain was so horrible. He could feel it rush through him. He screamed out in pain. The chair he was sitting on had a high back, and he kept hitting his head into it, trying to knock himself out, but it didn't work.

"Fine!" he screamed. "I'll tell you!"

Jad shut off the machine. "Excellent," he said. "Well?"

"I wrote it," Garak whispered. "I wrote The Reverie."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" And Jad leaned in and began to kiss Garak, tenderly, gently. Garak could taste the blood from his broken nose as they kissed. Jad broke away. "You were right," he said.

"What?" Garak said.

"It was me," said Jad. "I wrote The Reverie."

And Garak woke up.

XXXXX

He was in a strange bed, in a strange room. For a moment, he forgot where he was, and began to panic, but then he remembered. Vrell Jad. Kissing. Then... more than kissing. Oh, curse it. What had he done?

He reached over and shook Jad awake. Jad sat bolt upright and looked like he was going to hit something, but then he relaxed. "Garak?" he said groggily. "What is it?"

"We've made a terrible mistake," said Garak. "What we've done... it was... wrong. We shouldn't have done it."

Jad grinned crookedly. "Of course we shouldn't have," he said. "I already knew that."

"You knew this was going to happen!" Garak accused him. "When you invited me to your room, you knew we were- you knew we were going to-"

"Of course I didn't know!" said Jad. "How was I supposed to know that you would start flirting with me?"

"That wasn't flirting, that was insulting! Arguing!" said Garak.

"Same thing to me," said Jad.

Garak scoffed. "Usually a Cardassian has a more refined taste when it comes to such things."

"Well, maybe I'm not a good Cardassian," Jad said.

"Jad-" Garak began.

"Vrell," said Jad. "Call me Vrell."

"What kind of a name is Vrell, anyhow?" Garak said. "It means-"

"'Lovely'," said Jad. "'Lovely' in Kardasi."

"I would hardly think that the formidable Gul Ledec would name his only son 'lovely'," said Garak.

"He didn't name me," said Jad. "My mother did." He paused. "She always cared for me, my mother. Despite... everything." He propped himself on his elbow and turned to Garak. "Did you know that she died during the time I was being interrogated by you? She died thinking I was a traitor to the state. She never got to see my name get cleared."

"I didn't know that," said Garak, but he didn't apologize. He tried to change the subject. "How is Bajor?"

"Bajor is... Bajor," said Jad. "It's healing."

"What do you do on Bajor?" asked Garak.

"I work at the local orphanage," said Jad. "Most of the children are Bajoran, of course, but we have five Cardassian war orphans. None of the Cardassians have ever been adopted. I work with them. Teach them Kardasi. Tell them stories about Cardassia. Spend time with them."

"I can't picture you interacting with children," Garak said. "Especially telling them about Cardassia or teaching them Kardasi. You're hardly an ideal representative of our culture. Is The Reverie required reading?"

"Oh, stop it, Garak," said Jad. "And for your information, they're too young for something like The Reverie."

"Oh, you've read it?" Garak asked, interested.

"If you must know, yes," he said. "It's not forbidden on Bajor. In fact, it has its niche there. I decided to give it a read when I had the chance."

"What did you think of it?" asked Garak.

"As someone who was tortured by Cardassia, or as a Bajoran citizen? Or both? Or as a good Cardassian?" said Jad.

"Oh, never mind," said Garak. "I have another question."

"Go ahead," said Jad. "It's not as if I have anything to hide."

Garak couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "I wanted to know... you came here. Willingly."

"That I did." Jad smiled. "And?"

"Aren't you... scared?" asked Garak. "Of me, I mean?"

"Because of the torture," said Jad. It was not a question. He sighed. "It's complicated. Do you want to hear the short version, or the long version?"

"The long version is fine," said Garak.

"When I came to Bajor I was terrified of you," said Jad. "I had nightmares every night of your face. Of what you did to me. I woke up screaming. The other tenants in my apartment complex hated me, I'm sure. Of course they hated me, I'm a Cardassian living in Bajor."

"How is it like?" interrupted Garak. "I apologize," he said diplomatically. "You were saying?"

"No, I can talk about Bajor," said Jad. He bit his lip. "Bajor is a beautiful place. It's a shame what we did to it. The people... they still resent Cardassians. Damn it, of course they do. You know what I mean. Me. They resent me. They treat me as if I'm solely responsible for the occupation, as if the blood of every dead Bajoran is on my hands. Sometimes they vandalize the door of my apartment. I suppose I deserve it."

"I reckon they'd treat you better if they knew you wrote The Reverie," said Garak innocently.

"Garak, stop it," said Jad. "You're not going to get me to admit anything." He paused. "Some of them aren't so bad. My landlord likes me well enough. And the people who work at the orphanage with me treat me all right." He shook his head a bit. "Anyhow, you were asking if I was scared of you."

"If you still are," said Garak.

"I'd be a fool if I said I wasn't," said Jad. "I still have those nightmares, you know."

Garak wanted to tell him that he had nightmares too, nightmares about all the things he did. But he kept his mouth shut. Even in dreams, he was usually the oppressor, the torturer, the villain, and not the victim.

All he said was, "I suppose you still do." He looked Jad in the eyes. "So if you're so scared of me... why did you come here?" He sighed. "Jad, I just don't understand. Why did you come here, knowing I would be there?"

"I told you, you can call me Vrell," said Jad. "When I heard you were living here on Deep Space Nine, just a tailor, I decided I should come and see you. Remember what I told you? That I'd come back and laugh in your face?"

"How could I forgot?" said Garak.

"Well, that's why I'm here," said Jad. "To laugh in your face."

"Do you really think you've succeeded?" asked Garak. "You've commissioned a suit from me and you've had sex with me. That's hardly 'laughing in my face'."

"Oh, but it is," said Jad. "Every moment that I'm a free man is a moment for me to laugh in your face. Every moment that I'm a free man is a moment for you to regret. That's what I love about it so much."

"And did you... plan this?" asked Garak. "Us... you know...?"

"Well, no," said Jad. "But it did turn out to be mutually beneficial. Are you usually that rough?"

Garak ignored him. "I have another question for you," he said. He looked Jad dead in the eyes. "Did you write The Reverie?"

"After all these years, you're still at it!" said Jad. "I can't believe it."

"Well? Did you?" Garak demanded.

"Even if I did, it wouldn't matter," said Jad. "You already think I'm guilty. It's already a fact in your mind. If I say no, it'll have no impact."

"Maybe," admitted Garak. "But I still want to know."

Jad reached out and brushed his fingers over Garak's shoulder and neck ridges, his fingers lingering on his kinat'hU. "And I'm telling you," he said, "that it doesn't matter. The book has been written. The damage has been done. If you hung me, it wouldn't do anything. It wouldn't even prove a point."

"So you did write it."

"My dear Garak," said Jad, "I never said that."

Garak sighed. "As you like it, then."

"Now," said Jad, "I have a question for you."

"Oh, really?" said Garak.

"Who is Julian?" asked Jad.

Garak froze. "What?"

"I said, who is Julian?" Jad said. "Don't tell me you want me to repeat it again."

"How do you know about Julian?" asked Garak.

"You were moaning that name in my ear when we were fucking," said Jad. "Pretty hard not to hear it, to be honest."

Garak felt his face get hot and dark gray with embarrassment. "It's none of your business."

"I think you would feel better if you told me," wheedled Jad.

"Maybe I would," Garak admitted. He had never told anyone about his feelings for Julian before. Maybe it would feel better to finally talk about them.

"Excellent! Tell me everything," said Jad.

"Julian is... well, he's a human," said Garak. "He's a doctor. Dr. Julian Bashir. He's with Starfleet."

"A human?" exclaimed Jad.

"Well, he's certainly not a Cardassian!" Garak snapped.

"Sorry," said Jad. "I'm just... surprised. Tell me about him."

"Julian is infuriating," said Garak. "He's so intelligent, but he's so oblivious when it comes to me. I give him hints about myself and he never gets them. I hint that I have feelings for him, and he just doesn't understand. He's beautiful. He gets the nicest look on his face when he gets confused, which is often. He's rather thin, and sometimes I think about holding him in my arms." Garak paused. "He's impossible and insatiable. I think I love him."

"But you haven't told him?" Jad asked. "He doesn't know?"

"No, and if you see him, you had better not tell him," Garak said sternly. He sighed. "He doesn't need to know that I like him. I'm sure his life is complicated enough without me. I'm not sure if he even thinks I'm capable of feelings like that. And he's only in his twenties in Earth years."

"It sounds like you should tell him," Jad advised. "You have all sorts of feelings for him. I think he needs to know."

Garak didn't respond for a few moments. "I wish I could," he said. "But he's so... human! He's so... Federation! And I don't even know if he likes men!"

"There's only one way to know," said Jad. "Ask."

"One day, I will," Garak promised himself. "When the moment is right."

They laid in bed together for a while longer. Then, Garak got up out of bed. He began to get dressed. It was funny, he had almost forgotten he was naked. "I should get back to my quarters."

Jad began to dress too, back into that horrible gaudy outfit of his. "What? Can't stand to spend the last few hours of the night with me?"

"I like waking up in my own bed," Garak said.

"Fair enough," said Jad. "Are you going to start working on my suit tomorrow?"

Garak smiled. "Of course."

The two had both gotten dressed. Garak found his long-abandoned glass of kanar on the side table and knocked it back. He was about to leave when he stopped himself.

"I won't lie. I made a mistake tonight," he said. Then he hesitated. "But... I think we've had a valuable conversation."

Jad smiled. "I think so, too."

XXXXX

Many days later, Garak found himself in his shop, doing his usual puttering around when Vrell Jad entered.

"I got your message," he said. "My suit's done?"

Garak nodded. "Here it is." He thrust the fabric at Jad. "Go try it on."

Jad took the suit and disappeared into one of the fitting rooms. He emerged not long later with a smile on his face, wearing the suit. He looked absolutely idiotic. The fabrics and textures were so gaudy and clashing. It had to be the ugliest suit Garak had ever made. Just like The Reverie was the worst book he had ever read.

"So?" he said. "What do you think?"

"I love it!" Jad gushed. He did a twirl in the mirror, actually did a twirl. "It's beautiful, Garak! How can I ever thank you?"

"By giving me the final payment and getting off Deep Space Nine," said Garak. "That's all the thanks I need."

Jad frowned. "I thought perhaps you'd gotten used to me here. No? Still hate me?"

"That's never going to change," said Garak. "You might as well get used to it. As I'd like it, we'd never meet again."

"That might not be the case," said Jad. "After all, Bajor isn't so far from Deep Space Nine. I might pass this way again."

"I sincerely hope you don't," said Garak.

Jad just smiled.

XXXXX

The next day, Garak was sitting in the replimat waiting for Julian. It was their weekly lunch. He kept his eyes down, drumming his fingers on the table, so when someone sat down at the table across from him, he expected it to be Julian. Instead, it was Jad, wearing that horrible, horrible suit. Garak hoped he had told no one who had made it.

"Garak!" he exclaimed. "I'm glad to see you. My shuttle leaves in an hour. I'm going back to Bajor."

"Good," said Garak.

"Admit it, you're going to miss me," said Jad. "No- you don't have to say it out loud. I know that would hurt your pride. But just admit it. To yourself."

As much as he hated to admit it, Garak did think he would slightly miss Vrell Jad and his infuriating behavior. He might have missed the way Jad had touched him that night. But, no, he didn't miss that. He had someone else. Even if that someone else never really thought of him the way he thought of him. Even if that someone else's affections were only hypothetical. Was that enough? It had to be enough.

"I'm glad we talked," said Jad sincerely. "It was a good discussion. I don't have good conversation with people very often, you know. I have to talk to myself for that." He lowered his voice. "I know you won't say it, so I will. Talking to you helped me realize some things about myself. And I'm grateful to you for that. I hoped you learned something from talking to me."

"I think I may have," said Garak, seeing someone coming over Jad's shoulder.

"Garak!" It was Julian. "And who's this? I didn't think there were any other Cardassians on the station!" Just the sound of his voice was enough to make Garak feel utterly undone. He adored that voice so much that it hurt him.

"There aren't," said Jad, standing. "Vrell Jad. A pleasure to meet you... Dr. Bashir? Please, take my chair."

"Yes, that's my name," said Julian, surprised. He sat down across from Garak. "How do you know me?"

"Never mind that," said Jad with a smile. "I ought to be going. It was good meeting you, Dr. Bashir." He turned to Garak. "Remember what I told you."

Garak nodded. "I'll remember." You should tell him, Jad had told him. You have all sorts of feelings for him. I think he needs to know.

And just like that, Jad was gone, disappeared into the crowd on the promenade.

"Who was that, Garak?" asked Julian.

Garak hesitated. "An old... acquaintance, of sorts."

"Care to tell me a little more than that?" asked Julian.

Garak smiled. "No, that will have to suffice." He leaned back in his seat. "Doctor, have I ever told you about a book called The Reverie?"

"No, you haven't," said Julian. "What is it?"

"It's a Cardassian novel. Quite recent, only written a few years ago," said Garak. "It's written by an author who goes by the pen name 'Roho'. It's about a Gul who becomes disillusioned with the government upon the realization that his life is meaningless as just another Cardassian citizen serving the Cardassian state. He goes on to lead a revolution. Quite shocking stuff, frankly. It was banned by the Cardassian government."

"That doesn't sound like a book you would like very much," said Julian.

Garak chuckled. "Do you know something, doctor? It's my least favorite book I've ever read."

"Why are you bringing this up now?" asked Julian. "Does this have anything to do with that man, Vrell Jad?"

Garak paused for a moment. Then he smiled. "No reason," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far! I really appreciate it. Since you've made it this far, could you leave a comment? I would love to know what you think of my story. :)


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